Song | Get Bizy ft. Kurupt & Bad Lucc (Prod. by Terrace Martin) |
Artist | Kendrick Lamar |
Album | King Of New York |
[Intro: Terrace Martin] | |
What’s happening y’all? It’s Terrace Martin, ay, so check it out | |
I got three microphones, three of the ****st emcees, a drum machine, two turntables and a mixer | |
That’s all we need man, we’ll pass the first mic to Kurupt, yeah | |
[Verse 1: Kurupt] | |
I'm the militant military | |
Bald eagle, squeezer, Caesar, Ebenezer | |
I am the worst (what) | |
That's what my ************* told me after I took her purse and shook her down | |
Looking for a pound in that purse, ************* | |
I'm scandalous, I poke you like deer antlers, cancerous | |
Cause I ain't got no time to play | |
When I ask you a question, answer is the lie where you lay | |
Lay where you die, never wake up die where you lay | |
It's hard to survive ************* or the high where you stay | |
I'm important like the Pope, I'm the king of New York | |
I'm live from South Central, I'm a Muslim on pork | |
Kurupt the world's fetish, they feen and scratch | |
I'm multiplied by twenty thousand fiends and crack | |
You add me to music and the fiends react | |
Everybody's addicted, turning bodies to liquid | |
I love your style but I hate your vibe | |
I don't want your wife but your ************* is mine | |
Murder methods of mayhem, tap or dap up the great | |
Arsenic rapper, sodium cacodylate | |
Wizardry, misery, young Merlin | |
She’ll love me, I make her walls fall like Berlin | |
You ever heard of a murderer, well you must of my ************* | |
I'm a mixture between Big, Snoopy and Jigga | |
I spit meat cleavers, I'm saucy as Picante | |
My wife's a diva like Beyonce but hood like Shante, mother******* | |
I run amok on busters | |
They call me Kurupt, forget that, I ************* you up | |
I sizzle these mother*******s in the inkling of a second, murder method | |
[Terrace Martin] | |
Ay yo, where my Compton homeboy at? Kendrick Lamar, haha, yeah | |
[Verse 2: Kendrick Lamar] | |
Kurupt, let me erupt (what) | |
Like flammable gases under the Earth’s crust (uh) | |
My flammable passion can get the Earth crushed (what) | |
It’s 2012 once I unveil lyrics that can derail a train of a subway entrance | |
Say I bust like Jerome Bennett and that’s a must | |
Offended the best, magnum on my ************* defending my flesh | |
Seven holes like a clarinet | |
Clarify your worthiness or foresee funeral services | |
Affirmative action pop up on your furni*************ng | |
Unfortunate future for us to fly free under God’s firmament | |
Me versus whosever’s dead, that’s God’s tournament | |
Kendrick the Arthritis, hand that hates to write this | |
What’s good, I’m in your hood like workers of Midas | |
Purpose is to be righteous | |
But my Malcolm X is extra’d out like a crip yelling his hood out when he fighting | |
I never seen a key, all I seen was a triton | |
I’m always kicking up dust, I’ve never been hiking | |
I’ve always had a licence for this hip-hop | |
Influenced by the rap that vocally said they killed cops | |
I’m riding on E with a ************* that pill pop | |
Now that’s the irony that I give you when the zip lock | |
Bag and sell it at doo wop, after that pass the doo wop | |
Lick a few shots for the few blocks that we on | |
For ain’t no beat that’s flawed or unique so please don’t try to Xerox | |
Copy written, *************s bitten | |
My style since I was backflipping | |
Inside c*************s, LA gears with the laces missing | |
Me Against the World in the background, mama had gave me bowl cut in the kitchen | |
Big cousin became a statistic, I chose the right flows and remained consistent | |
Voila, now they got me, haha | |
Expectations is high, Compton or Bed-Stuy | |
To them skinny *************s in the Chi bumping Common | |
But the only thing in common is crime and more violence | |
I play a little game, you say you fly, I’m over fly | |
I’m the pilot that’s left on the plane, cloud nine | |
That’s where I’m at with it | |
Punchlines till your jaw dented | |
Catapult your Buick till your car spinning | |
[Terrace Martin] | |
Watts up, Bad Lucc | |
[Verse 3: Bad Lucc] | |
Believe me, I’m Martin Luther and Jeezy | |
Hard to shoot and they need me | |
Created from a grain of sand that’s rolled up in a rizla | |
First time I met the RZA, I reminded him of GZA | |
Back then I was a cold little ************* painting pictures | |
Avalon did that, [?] six pack | |
Raised by them killers that’ll never bring them kids back | |
Tiny Archibald on the dirty side of law | |
I was inches from that building till my ******* tucked the raw, I’m lawless | |
Hell to the supreme, I should beam that beamer for gleaming | |
And blame it on that lean cause I’m leaning | |
The movie is rated R, [?] Shady, huh | |
************* off his lady friends in a Bentley, huh | |
You ain’t seen us in a while, jack | |
Rastic, I’m god and a buggy is a mousetrap | |
You’ll become about that, big homies ain’t out yet | |
Youngins run the city or the biddy like I’m about that | |
Sharpen my tools, step out the kitchen homie | |
Young Drake from kitchen [?] told me that street *************t is what they missing from me | |
Is so I’m outside with the Eastside | |
Sound of the piece and the heat flies | |
Flat fleece, the fleece bang when *************s get DP’d at beef time | |
Warren, no Griffin | |
You listen, you’ll be held accountable to what I’m spitting | |
I’m Johnny Cage with Timberlands mean I come with me | |
You got the blogs, I got the streets | |
I guess we even, not really | |
I’m cut from a different cloth, rappers pissing them off | |
Serving drinks out of gun stores, *******tails is Molotovs | |
I’m bored crazy in a booth, if I don’t get that coupe soon | |
I swear to God I’ll turn Hip-Hop Awards to a saloon | |
Move, make way for the fat kid with an attitude | |
If I batter you, I cook that last meal to ************* food, on mama’s dough | |
You sugar puffs and honor rolls | |
I’m angus like, Genghis Khan in my video | |
You can’t stop it though, from P.F. Changs to Pappadeaux | |
I eat a ************* up like Domino's, yeah | |
[Outro: Terrace Martin] | |
Yeah yeah, ay so there you have it | |
Terrace Martin | |
Kurupt, Young Gotti | |
Kendrick Lamar, Compton stand the ************* up | |
Bad Lucc, Watts stand the ************* up, you feel me | |
Crazy Toones, South Central, what up hood? | |
I’mma get the ************* outta here, man I’m done, man let the *************t talk man |
Intro: Terrace Martin | |
What' s happening y' all? It' s Terrace Martin, ay, so check it out | |
I got three microphones, three of the st emcees, a drum machine, two turntables and a mixer | |
That' s all we need man, we' ll pass the first mic to Kurupt, yeah | |
Verse 1: Kurupt | |
I' m the militant military | |
Bald eagle, squeezer, Caesar, Ebenezer | |
I am the worst what | |
That' s what my told me after I took her purse and shook her down | |
Looking for a pound in that purse, | |
I' m scandalous, I poke you like deer antlers, cancerous | |
Cause I ain' t got no time to play | |
When I ask you a question, answer is the lie where you lay | |
Lay where you die, never wake up die where you lay | |
It' s hard to survive or the high where you stay | |
I' m important like the Pope, I' m the king of New York | |
I' m live from South Central, I' m a Muslim on pork | |
Kurupt the world' s fetish, they feen and scratch | |
I' m multiplied by twenty thousand fiends and crack | |
You add me to music and the fiends react | |
Everybody' s addicted, turning bodies to liquid | |
I love your style but I hate your vibe | |
I don' t want your wife but your is mine | |
Murder methods of mayhem, tap or dap up the great | |
Arsenic rapper, sodium cacodylate | |
Wizardry, misery, young Merlin | |
She' ll love me, I make her walls fall like Berlin | |
You ever heard of a murderer, well you must of my | |
I' m a mixture between Big, Snoopy and Jigga | |
I spit meat cleavers, I' m saucy as Picante | |
My wife' s a diva like Beyonce but hood like Shante, mother | |
I run amok on busters | |
They call me Kurupt, forget that, I you up | |
I sizzle these mother s in the inkling of a second, murder method | |
Terrace Martin | |
Ay yo, where my Compton homeboy at? Kendrick Lamar, haha, yeah | |
Verse 2: Kendrick Lamar | |
Kurupt, let me erupt what | |
Like flammable gases under the Earth' s crust uh | |
My flammable passion can get the Earth crushed what | |
It' s 2012 once I unveil lyrics that can derail a train of a subway entrance | |
Say I bust like Jerome Bennett and that' s a must | |
Offended the best, magnum on my defending my flesh | |
Seven holes like a clarinet | |
Clarify your worthiness or foresee funeral services | |
Affirmative action pop up on your furni ng | |
Unfortunate future for us to fly free under God' s firmament | |
Me versus whosever' s dead, that' s God' s tournament | |
Kendrick the Arthritis, hand that hates to write this | |
What' s good, I' m in your hood like workers of Midas | |
Purpose is to be righteous | |
But my Malcolm X is extra' d out like a crip yelling his hood out when he fighting | |
I never seen a key, all I seen was a triton | |
I' m always kicking up dust, I' ve never been hiking | |
I' ve always had a licence for this hiphop | |
Influenced by the rap that vocally said they killed cops | |
I' m riding on E with a that pill pop | |
Now that' s the irony that I give you when the zip lock | |
Bag and sell it at doo wop, after that pass the doo wop | |
Lick a few shots for the few blocks that we on | |
For ain' t no beat that' s flawed or unique so please don' t try to Xerox | |
Copy written, s bitten | |
My style since I was backflipping | |
Inside c s, LA gears with the laces missing | |
Me Against the World in the background, mama had gave me bowl cut in the kitchen | |
Big cousin became a statistic, I chose the right flows and remained consistent | |
Voila, now they got me, haha | |
Expectations is high, Compton or BedStuy | |
To them skinny s in the Chi bumping Common | |
But the only thing in common is crime and more violence | |
I play a little game, you say you fly, I' m over fly | |
I' m the pilot that' s left on the plane, cloud nine | |
That' s where I' m at with it | |
Punchlines till your jaw dented | |
Catapult your Buick till your car spinning | |
Terrace Martin | |
Watts up, Bad Lucc | |
Verse 3: Bad Lucc | |
Believe me, I' m Martin Luther and Jeezy | |
Hard to shoot and they need me | |
Created from a grain of sand that' s rolled up in a rizla | |
First time I met the RZA, I reminded him of GZA | |
Back then I was a cold little painting pictures | |
Avalon did that, ? six pack | |
Raised by them killers that' ll never bring them kids back | |
Tiny Archibald on the dirty side of law | |
I was inches from that building till my tucked the raw, I' m lawless | |
Hell to the supreme, I should beam that beamer for gleaming | |
And blame it on that lean cause I' m leaning | |
The movie is rated R, ? Shady, huh | |
off his lady friends in a Bentley, huh | |
You ain' t seen us in a while, jack | |
Rastic, I' m god and a buggy is a mousetrap | |
You' ll become about that, big homies ain' t out yet | |
Youngins run the city or the biddy like I' m about that | |
Sharpen my tools, step out the kitchen homie | |
Young Drake from kitchen ? told me that street t is what they missing from me | |
Is so I' m outside with the Eastside | |
Sound of the piece and the heat flies | |
Flat fleece, the fleece bang when s get DP' d at beef time | |
Warren, no Griffin | |
You listen, you' ll be held accountable to what I' m spitting | |
I' m Johnny Cage with Timberlands mean I come with me | |
You got the blogs, I got the streets | |
I guess we even, not really | |
I' m cut from a different cloth, rappers pissing them off | |
Serving drinks out of gun stores, tails is Molotovs | |
I' m bored crazy in a booth, if I don' t get that coupe soon | |
I swear to God I' ll turn HipHop Awards to a saloon | |
Move, make way for the fat kid with an attitude | |
If I batter you, I cook that last meal to food, on mama' s dough | |
You sugar puffs and honor rolls | |
I' m angus like, Genghis Khan in my video | |
You can' t stop it though, from P. F. Changs to Pappadeaux | |
I eat a up like Domino' s, yeah | |
Outro: Terrace Martin | |
Yeah yeah, ay so there you have it | |
Terrace Martin | |
Kurupt, Young Gotti | |
Kendrick Lamar, Compton stand the up | |
Bad Lucc, Watts stand the up, you feel me | |
Crazy Toones, South Central, what up hood? | |
I' mma get the outta here, man I' m done, man let the t talk man |